


Christmas Eve at Mycroft and Greg's

by seeyouinhell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, M/M, Winter Mystrade Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeyouinhell/pseuds/seeyouinhell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg spend an evening drinking hot chocolate, cuddling on the couch, decorating the Christmas tree, cooking, and enjoying each other's company. </p>
<p>An absurd amount of fluff and pet names and cuddling on couches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Eve at Mycroft and Greg's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GooberFeesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/gifts).



> This fic was written for the Winter Mystrade Exchange on tumblr. I was assigned GooberFeesh, who wanted an emphasis on the winter theme of the exchange. I hope you enjoy this absurd amount of fluff!

Greg managed to open the door, arms full of the cardboard box of Christmas decorations he’d brought in from the car. He set the box and his keys down on the counter, peeled off his gloves and jacket, and walked into the living room. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the open door, watching Mycroft pace while talking on the phone.

“Oui, oui. Non, ce sera parfait. L'Organisation des Nations Unies peuvent obtenir par sans nous pour une journée,” he paused, looking over at Greg with a faint twinkle in his eyes. “Un instant, s'il vous plaît,” He covered the earpiece of the phone. “You've brought the decorations, I suppose?” Greg nodded, grinning at the sight before him. That morning, Mycroft had reluctantly agreed to wear an absolutely hideous Christmas sweater, but only if Greg would cook dinner that night. Greg thought it was more than a fair trade to see his love out of his everyday three-piece suit. It was a rare occurrence that he could convince him to be more casual, but every now and then Mycroft would agree. Mycroft sent a small smile his way and then went back to his phone conversation, intent on finishing it as soon as possible.

Greg walked back into the kitchen, deciding to whip up some hot chocolate for while they were decorating the obscenely large tree they had managed to fit into the corner of the living room. He got down a pan and took out the necessary ingredients, letting the rumble of Mycroft’s voice wash over him from the other room. After a few minutes, he realized that the conversation had ended, and he looked up from the pan to see where Mycroft was. He nearly jumped, realizing that he was sitting on a stool just across the counter from him. Mycroft smirked at his surprise.

“Making hot chocolate, Gregory?” he asked with a grin.

“Excellent deduction, that, Mr. Holmes,” Greg returned, smiling and holding out the wooden spoon so his lover could try it. Mycroft reached up and held Greg’s hand still, blowing on the hot chocolate before tasting it. He hummed contemplatively.

“A hint of cinnamon, I think, and it will be perfect,” Greg chuckled and pecked him on the lips, by now well aware of Mycroft’s affinity for cinnamon. 

“Coming right up, darling,” Greg turned around and opened the cabinet, searching for cinnamon in the spice rack and whistling. Before he could turn around, he felt arms wrap around his waist and lips land on the back of his neck. His eyes slid shut, and he brought his hands down to cover Mycroft’s. Mycroft hummed again, this time against his neck, then moved to nibble at Greg’s ear. He let his head fall back, and Mycroft kissed up and down as much of his neck as he could reach. 

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, directly in his ear, sending a shiver down Greg’s spine. 

“Yes, My?”

“The hot chocolate is going to burn,” Greg’s eyes snapped open and he looked over his shoulder. Mycroft’s arms slid away from their place around Greg’s, and he grabbed the cinnamon from the shelf, backing away enough for Greg to turn and start stirring the hot chocolate again. As soon as he settled in front of the stove, Mycroft went back to his place behind Greg, merely placing his hands on Greg’s hips this time instead of wrapping his arms around him. 

"How was your day, love?" Greg asked, intent on making sure he didn't lose focus again.

"Oh, same old. Various opposing governments throwing fits and threatening nuclear warfare, a near-death of a royal, Sherlock wreaking havoc with my security system," Greg raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes. Just your everyday sort of problems. Nothing unexpected in the daily work of the British Government," Mycroft chuckled over his shoulder. "Grab the mugs for me, will you love?"

Greg turned off the burner and grabbed the two mugs Mycroft handed him. Being careful to not burn his hands, he poured the chocolate into the mugs and grabbed the bag of mini marshmallows he’d set down on the counter. After taking a few for himself, he handed the bag off to Mycroft, who added exactly three marshmallows before gesturing with his head in the direction of the living room. Greg grabbed the box of ornaments and handed his cup to Mycroft. Setting the box down by the tree, Greg glimpsed a small box beneath it with his name written on a label. He picked it up and turned toward the couch where Mycroft had settled down.

“My, what’s this? I thought we weren’t going to do wrapped gifts this year.”

Mycroft looked up and blushed softly. 

“It’s nothing, just a little something I bought for you some time ago. Don’t feel like you have to get me anything, your presence for the entirety of Christmas day will be more than enough for me,” Greg grinned and walked over to the couch, settling down next to Mycroft and kissing him gently. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” He said with a grin. “You’re probably just trying to distract me so that you can arrange all the lights and ornaments the way you want to without my interference,” Mycroft had the decency to look sheepish at his words, but he didn’t affirm his statement. Greg chuckled and pecked him on the cheek. “It’s all right love, I’m just teasing. You can arrange the tree however you want, I’m sure it’ll look perfect. Besides, I’ve got to get on with cooking dinner.”

Greg stood up and walked into the kitchen, humming one of the Christmas songs he’d heard on the radio on his way home. He prepared dinner, taking care to not make too much noise while he knew Mycroft was concentrating. When he finally slid the meal into the oven, he walked quietly into the living room and stood watching Mycroft with a small smile on his face. He worked systematically, putting up the lights in the way he had deemed best to frame the tree. After a few minutes, he stood back and nodded. 

“What do you think, Gregory?” He asked, still not turning around. Greg, used to Mycroft sensing his presence by now, walked over to Mycroft and responded.

“It looks fantastic, My. Come on, sit with me on the couch for a bit. The food’s in the oven and we’ve got a bit of time before I need to check on it. The rest of the tree can wait.”  
Mycroft nodded, and walked with Greg to the couch. Greg stretched out and pulled Mycroft down to cuddle with him. Mycroft’s head landed on Greg’s chest, and Greg stroked lines up and down the expanse of his back. He hummed, leaning up to kiss Greg. 

“I haven’t had such a promising day off since Prague. It’s nice to be able to relax with you,” he settled back against Greg’s chest, closing his eyes and sighing. Greg was quiet for a few minutes, just stroking his hair, before whispering his name. Mycroft stirred, sitting up somewhat to look at Greg. 

“My? I’m glad you have Christmas free. It’s not the same without you here,” Mycroft smiled.

“Well, it’s a special occasion, is it not? The first Christmas we don’t have to worry about interruptions, what with Sherlock dragging John off to spend the holiday in Italy of all places. Besides, Anthea practically begged me to take the day off,” he was silent for a minute, seemingly considering something, before he spoke again. “Anthea was with me when I bought that for you,” he said, nodding to the small box that was still on the coffee table in front of them, “she helped me decide on the choice.”

“Oh?” Mycroft nodded.

“I wasn’t sure if it was…appropriate, but she encouraged me to get it anyway. You can open it after dinner, if you like.” 

“Is that my cue to go check on the chicken?” Greg asked with a laugh, shifting to get up from the couch. 

“Not quite,” Mycroft replied, putting a hand on his arm to encourage him to stay. “Charles is going to take over dinner from here on. All that’s really left is watching the chicken until it’s done, and Charles has already made an impeccable dessert. You can just relax, love,” Greg looked over at Mycroft and laughed.

“Should have known. Mr. Mycroft Holmes, always on top of things. Even on his days off,” he leaned over and kissed him, starting out soft and getting progressively rougher, pulling back only when he ran out of breath.

“Technically,” Mycroft panted, “my day off doesn’t start until tomorrow.” Greg laughed and pulled him into a gentler kiss, settling them back down into the relaxed sprawls they’d been in earlier. He sighed and kissed Mycroft’s forehead, and they relaxed together on the couch until a bell rang in the kitchen, signaling to them that dinner was ready. 

Mycroft stood up and held his hand out to Greg, and they walked to the small breakfast nook, seeing as they preferred the intimate space to the grand dining room where guests would eat dinner. Their plates had already been set out, and Charles had lit a single candle for the center of the table. They ate and drank the fantastic red wine Mycroft had picked out for the evening, and when they were finished, Mycroft led Greg back to the living room, refusing his offer to clear their plates. He sat Greg down on the couch and told him to close his eyes, much to Greg’s confusion. 

“This is just that little box, right? You don’t have some huge display for me, do you? Because then I’d feel even worse about not getting you anything.”

“Don’t worry Gregory, it’s just the box. Besides, if things go as I’m hoping they will, this gift will benefit both of us,” Greg heard him rummaging around, and resisted the urge to sneak a peek. “Alright Gregory, you can open your eyes.”

Greg blinked his eyes open, and immediately widened them at the sight before him. Mycroft was knelt on the ground in front of him, smiling nervously and holding up a ring.  
“Gregory, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband? I know we’ve only been together for slightly over a year now, but I’ve fallen very much in love with you, and-“ Greg didn’t let him finish, leaning forward and holding Mycroft tight, whispering yes over and over and pressing light kisses over every part of him he could reach.

“Yes Mycroft, oh god yes. Yes, yes, yes. Of course,” he leaned back and looked Mycroft in the eye, watched as Mycroft slowly grinned and held his hand out in front of him, palm up. Greg held out his left hand, mesmerized, and Mycroft slipped the simple band onto his ring finger. “Where’s yours?” he asked. Mycroft pulled a matching band out of his back pocket, holding it out to Greg, who accepted it and slid it onto Mycroft’s left ring finger. He stood up, pulling Mycroft to his feet as well, and embraced him tightly. 

“My, I couldn’t have asked for a better gift than this,” he whispered. “I’m stunned, and I’m really, really happy,” he leaned back, and a thought crossed his mind. “Oh my god. How’s Sherlock going to react?” he asked, and burst out laughing as a look of horror came across Mycroft’s face.


End file.
